Music Lovers
by Ksiezniczka
Summary: UKUS. England visits America to help him with paperwork, but a storm warning sends the pair to the basement. An argument over the song on the radio quickly leads to something more...


**Collab between one of my best friends and I. She wrote the fluffy parts and I wrote the smut!**

**...I... probably shouldn't be so proud of that.**

**Axis Powers Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya**

oOo

Arthur knew that there was a storm headed into the American plains, but he just had to get that message to Alfred. When he arrived at the large Bostonian house, he could already see the dark storm clouds headed his way. "America? Alfred, open up!" The grumpy Brit slammed his fist against the door. The worsening weather was doing nothing for his nerves, only making him even more impatient. When the door finally opened, Alfred was standing in just a white tank top and his American flag boxers.

"Hey, Iggy! What are you doin' here? Its about to storm!"

"You know exactly what I'm doing here! For god's sake, will you please make yourself presentable?" Arthur charged in, making himself at home as he sat down huge armloads of papers for the younger nation.

"You've missed three world meetings so far, all because of your stupid independence-" "Hey now! It's not stupid! And lighten up, will ya? Gawd, you sound like you need to get-!" Alfred was cut off by a warning glare.

"Look. You've got a lot of paperwork to do, so I'm willing to help you, you insufferable git."

America sighed, shaking his head as he went over to help with the huge stack of paperwork.

"Hey, do ya want some coffee?"

"No! I can't stand that disgusting-!" Just as England spoke, a crash of thunder was heard outside. America frowned, going over and turning on the small dial radio on his dresser. A reporter was speaking, but so far it was just boring news. The two nations worked together, ignoring the rain and thunder outside for a little while. Suddenly, the wind picked up, beating branches against the windows. The normally stoic England kept glancing at the windows nervously.

"America, haven't you trimmed your hedges?"

Alfred shrugged. "Eh, I'm getting to it, its not like its gonna break or nothing." He muttered nonchalantly, going back to the paperwork. Suddenly, the reporter's voice from the radio turned grim:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please go into your basements or other storm shelter. There have been reports of a tornado touching down in the area. I repeat, go down to your basements and storm cellars immediately!" Arthur's face paled, looking over at the windows again.

"Let me get these papers into a drawer or something," he muttered, starting to pack the papers away. He moved next to the desk by the window, stuffing a few papers into it to keep it safe. Suddenly, Alfred yelled, tackling him to the floor as a branch broke through the window, wind and rain pouring into the house and scattering the remaining papers.

"Before you say I'm an idiot, let's get to the cellar! Now!" Alfred hissed, pulling up the Brit and taking him to the cellar quickly. The two nations ran down to the cellar, bringing only a few flashlights and some blankets. As America closed the cellar door, England began to fuss.

"Really! 'It's not gonna break nothing!' God! You sound like an imbecile! Look at you! Almost two hundred and you're acting like a stupid child!"

"Hey! I didn't think it was going to break! And I'll be two hundred-and-thirty-four in a few days!" America snapped back, glaring back at the older nation. "And hey! I could have let that branch hit you! Look! I even got myself all cut up for you!" America showed England his sliced up arms, trying to pull glass out of them with only the aid of a small dim flashlight. England sighed, moving to his side.

"You really are an idiot, America! You have no sense of what is right and-!" Before he could finish, he noticed something. America wasn't fighting back. This was odd, but the more tiny fragments of glass England helped to pull out, the quieter America got.

"…I may be a child but…I'm growing, England. You of all people should know that, Arthur," he murmured slowly, biting his lip.

Arthur scoffed, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "None of that now. Where's your first aid kit?" At the sound of silence, Arthur shrugged and started to tear at his shirt.

"Hey! What are you-!"

"I gotta patch you up somehow, you idiot. And you've gone and forgotten the first aid kit! Really, how could you-!" Suddenly, Alfred's cut up arms were wrapped around England's chest, pulling him close.

"Thank you, big brother, but I'm okay. They're only scratches, really… And you're kinda right.. About me being a kid and all…" He muttered, laying his head on Arthur's shoulders. England stopped, staring at the boy.

"America.. What are you doi-"

"I'm Sorry. I know you hate coming over to my house during this month, which is why I know it musta been hard for you to even see me right now." America didn't let Arthur go, holding him tightly. "But you did anyways.. So I guess.. I owe you a thank you... and at least a little apology for the way I acted to you all those years ago. I mean, I'm not sayin' I was wrong but.. I was a brat." The words brought a faint smile to England's lips, making him turn and kiss the younger boy's hair.

"America.. You really are an idiot, aren't you? " Alfred just smiled at him, shrugging.

"I guess… But hey, after this storm's over, you wanna get some burgers or something?"

England sighed, shaking his head. The boy could never keep himself on track.

"You-! Nevermind. Stay still." England wrapped up the largest of America's wounds, letting the little cuts clot up themselves. He then sat back, leaning on the cold wall of the cellar.

"Hey Artie, you know what we could do down here?" England rolled his eyes, looking at him. Suddenly, Alfred was in his face, a flashlight held under his chin. "Tell daaaaaaaaaark scaaaaaaaaary stories about axe murders and zombies and-!"

"You do realize that I can see straight up your nose with that flashlight, right Alfred?"

Alfred pouted, and moved the flashlight to try to reduce the amount of light going up his nose.

"So, whatcha think? You know it would be awesome! And then the Hero would come out and save everybody and-! …? England…?" England was looking up at the door of the cellar, frowning to himself. He could hear the radio still, as America had at least thought to bring it downstairs with him, and the song playing sent a chill up his spine.

"…Of thee I sing! Land where my Fathers died, land of the Pilgram's Pride"

"Hey! Those bloody wankers stole the tune to my anthem! America! You better have a good explanation to this!" The Brit was furious, glaring at the younger nation.

"What? it's a good melody! Are you sure its your song? Cause it really sounds like mine!" America sang along with the choir of voices for a moment, then got smacked upside the head by England.

"That's 'God Save the Queen,' you idiot! Not some stupid American song!"

"Well, it's my song now! And that hurt, England!" The two of them sat next to each other in silence, waiting for the song to end.

"I don't care if it's your independence day in two days, America. Song theft is song theft!" Alfred suddenly gave him a fake glare.

"What about you stealing Ke$ha from me, huh?"

"Hey! We did not steal her! She's still yours.. And her music is catchy." England defended, looking up at the ceiling. "And what about our Spice Girls? You made a whole movie about them!" He snapped back at the younger nation.

"Oh really? Well what about the Beatles, huh? You gave them to us on a silver plane!"

"Well, we kept Herman's Hermits for as long as we could!" The two glared at each other, and then it was America who spoke, or rather, sang.

"Just dance! Sway through the crowd to an empty space!"

"Oh you wanker!" England snarled at him, and sang his worst impression of

"Sing us a song, you're the piano man! Sing us a song tonight! Well, we're all in the mood for a melody! And you've got us feelin' alright! La da da, da-dee-da…"

The two glared at each other again, and the music battle continued between the two of them. They each sung different lines from musicians the countries had shared over the last two hundred years. At the end of it, America was nose to nose with England, an odd gleam in his eyes.

"All you need is Love! Do do do dee doo!"

"You git! That's my song! That's-!"

Suddenly, America's lips were clamped tightly over England's, shutting him up momentarily.

"Love is all you need." England was stunned. Not only did America just use his own song against him, but they were kissing! And it wasn't just a "Shut Up" kiss either, no. This kiss actually felt really good, as much as England would hate to admit. Then all too soon, America pulled back.

"See? I win! Ha! You even lose at Gay chicken!" America laughed, adjusting his glasses. England stared back at him.

"…Why did you stop?"

"What? Well, you didn't honestly-! MRPH!" Suddenly England pulled him into a soft, but still forceful kiss. The two stayed there for a moment, each secretly enjoying the soft comfort of the contact, until America moved. He gently put his hands around England's neck, softening the kiss even more and letting his eyes slip closed, making the once contesting touch slow down into something much more tender. England had no complaints about this, and pulled America closer by the shoulders, knees getting closer to the other's legs.

America smirked, pulling only a few centimeters away. "Hey.. How much do you love me?"

England thought for a moment, blushing at the question. "Well.. Y-you're my little brother.. And even if you are a stupid git, I do care for you. More than you know, America."

Alfred broke into a wide grin. "Then this should be fun for you." Of course, he took the words the wrong way, and his impulsiveness got the better of him as he pulled England in for another kiss. This time however, as their lips touched, America's tongue slid out, slipping between England's lips. The Brit let out a surprised groan, but didn't fight him off. Instead, he cautiously returned the motion, deepening the once chaste kisses into strong, lustful movements.

The pair continued like this for what seemed like an eternity, not pulling apart or saying anything for fear of this sudden closeness vanishing in favour of their normal behaviour. The only noises were the muffled storm outside, static-laced faint music from the radio, and the suckling of their lips and tongues seemingly wrestling for dominance. The movements were quick and forceful rather than light and questioning, as if they'd been doing this their whole lives. Or at least as if they'd wanted to.

It was England who moved first, a trail of spittle following him as he moved his mouth off the younger nation-tan's own, trailing wet and sloppy kisses down America's firm jawline, cupping the younger's backside through the flag-print boxers.

Unsure what to do, America began undoing the buttons on his companion's shirt, taking in a sharp breath as he felt England hungrily knawing at his neck.

It wasn't long until both were shirtless, panting and sweating. England let a low groan against America's neck, causing the taller nation to feel himself hardening in his boxers - and here he'd thought his ex-brother was so prim and proper! Were he not so turned on by it, America might have laughed.

Suddenly, he gasped as he felt one of England's wandering fingers make its way into his tight entrance.

"A-Arthur!" he choked out, feeling his former guardian smirking against his collarbone.

"Calm down, America. You'll like it, I promise," England pulled back to face the younger nation. "Besides," he grinned, "you'll have something much bigger in there soon, so you should get used to it."

"Hold on a minute!" America's voice cracked as he said this, making him blush, but he continued with, "Who said we're doing that? And even if we do, who said you get to top?"

"Idiot," England moved his finger in a way that caused America to whimper pathetically. "I raised you. Of course I get to top. Now if you'll let me continue..." he moved his mouth back towards the younger's neck, but America pushed his head away.

"F-flip a coin," he struggled to say, England's finger in his bum making it very difficult to speak coherently.

The Brit growled, not liking being interrupted when he was so hot and bothered, and removed his hand from the other's hole to dig for a coin in his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Uhh... heads," America decided as the coin was already up in the air.

Arthur smirked, green eyes twinkling as the coin landed in his hand. "Too bad. It's tails. Best get out some lubricant." He'd had enough of this foreplay, America be damned - his body was screaming for release, and fast!

The younger barely had enough time to pull it out - good thing he always had some KY on him! (A hero is always prepared.) - before the elder nation had grabbed it, roughly tugging off the flag-print boxers and inserting two lubed-up fingers to hastily prepare his partner. America found himself biting his lip to hold back the groans as he tugged lightly at the other's wheatstalk-coloured hair.

A few seconds passed as the elder hastily pulled his own pants down just enough to release his throbbing cock, quickly hiding it again with a deep thrust into his former colony.

"E-England!" America cried out, half in surprise and half in slightly-painful pleasure, gripping the other's shoulders as he spread his legs obligingly. "Nn... I..."

He never finished his sentence, concentrating only on forcing his eyes to stay open and focused on England moving up and down over him, faster and faster.

"Ah..." England gasped quietly, burying his head in America's shoulder as he continued to pant and groan - he was much more vocal than his younger partner. "America, I-" he reached down, cupping the younger's member suddenly. It had been a long time since he'd been with a partner, other than his right hand of course.

America bit down on his lip again, unsure what to do with his own hands other than idly play with his partner's hair. England murmured something in his ear, barely audible over his own heavy breathing and pulse.

"What?" he choked out, surprised at how unlike himself he sounded at the moment.

"Say my name," England said a little louder."

"E-England..."

"Say it!"

"England!" America yelped out, feeling the other thrusting inside his impossibly tight corridor, brushing - no, striking directly- upon his prostate.

"My full name!"

"Are you- oh, god- are you serious?"

"Say it!"

America groaned loudly before obliging with, "The United Kingdom of... of Great Britain and... Northern Ireland!"

For the country whose name had just been yelled, the world went white.

He screamed loudly and immodestly, hot jets flooding his partner, before collapsing upon the other nation's bare chest, huffing and puffing for a good three minutes.

Finally, England lazily lifted his head, still panting - it was then when he realised something. Mortified, he groaned.

"America... You didn't-"

"You jerk!" America panted, face flushed. "You couldn't have held off a little longer? It's my birthday for God's sake!"

"I'm... sorry..."

The younger blinked in surprise. England almost sounded as if he was crying! America opened his mouth to assure him it was okay, when he realised the elder wasn't crying...

...he was laughing.

America's mouth fell open. "Y-you asshole! First you don't let me finish, then you laugh at me?"

England looked up at his flushed former colony, mirth making his tired green eyes glitter even in the darkness. "America, I _am_ sorry; I'll make it up to you."

The younger nation straightened his glasses, taking a moment to marvel that they hadn't fallen off, before opening his mouth to ask "how?"- and immediately squeaking rather unheroically as the nation he had once looked up to kissed him tenderly in the centre of his chest.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he watched England trail kisses slowly down his midsection, getting closer and closer to his erection.

"H-hurry up!"

"Mm... don't be so impatient," England said too calmly for what he was doing, letting his tongue brush out against America's hipbone. He smirked as the younger bucked up beneath him.

"But I can't last much longer!" America whined.

The Brit's smirk widened as he gave his former colony's taut stomach another kiss, staring up into his agonised face.

"Say please, Alfred," he scolded quietly. Just because he wanted to please the younger nation didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun with it after all.

"E-England..." America moaned, breath quick and shallow, "please..."

Slowly - painfully slowly - England lowered his mouth around the younger cock, causing its owner to buck and groan underneath as he bobbed his head up and down around it.

America hadn't been lying - the Brit had only been sucking him off for a few minutes when he felt America's full body shudder and suddenly tasted something sticky and slightly bitter.

America let his head fall back, exhausted, as he felt England swallow. "Thank you, England..."

The elder wiped his mouth and then lay his head on the other's chest, listening to the heartbeat as it slowly returned to a normal, less-frenzied pace.

"...Happy birthday," he finally replied, a slight smile gracing his lips. Almost as an afterthought, he affectionately added, "you idiot."

"Hey," the younger blinked in surprise as knowledge of his surroundings returned to him. "Listen to that!"

Annoyed and exhausted, England replied, "what?"

"The radio's playing our song!"

The Brit's ears perked at that - indeed, the radio was playing the song that had started this escapade:

"There's nothing you can do that can't be done. No song you can sing that can't be sung. No where you can be where you're not meant to be in time. Its easy!"

Had he the energy for it, England would have shook his head as his partner began to hum along. But as it were, he felt himself drift off to sleep, a smile on his lips as America sang to him, "...love is all you need."

_-fin-_


End file.
